The Lost Abbot (22 page)

‘Still insensible,’ Michael replied shortly. ‘And if he fails to wake, I will not leave Peterborough until I catch the villain who poisoned him.’

‘Do not take that tone with me,’ objected Lullington. ‘I had nothing to do with it.’

‘Then who do you think might have done it?’

A sly expression flitted across Lullington’s face. ‘Where to start? Aurifabro is a vicious rogue. Then there is Ramseye, who is as cunning and duplicitous a fellow as I have ever met. Yvo will be innocent, though.’

As Michael knew that Yvo represented Lullington’s best chance of continued luxury, he was inclined to dismiss the last claim.

‘Trentham is also a villain,’ the knight went on. ‘Do not let that look of innocent youth deceive you, because he is a rascal. How dare he tell me how to treat my wife!’

The abbey’s cook, sacrist and brewer were also vilified, and it quickly became apparent that Lullington’s list of suspects just comprised people who had crossed him. Unwilling to waste more time listening to it, Michael went on the offensive.

‘I find it odd that you happened to be by the gate when we returned last night. What—’

‘Yvo has already explained what we were doing,’ snapped Lullington. ‘Waiting to get my wife’s …
my
jewellery from the treasury. If Welbyrn had not gone out without his Prior’s permission, we would not have been obliged to hang around waiting for him to come back.’

Michael moved to another subject. ‘I understand you and Robert were friends. Yet I am told he could be … difficult.’

‘He probably should not have taken the cowl,’ acknowledged Lullington. ‘He would have done better at court, for he had the wit and cunning to best any politician.’

‘What did you do when you learned he was missing? You, Pyk and Reginald were his particular friends, but Pyk is also lost and Reginald is not a caring man. That leaves you.’

‘What could I do, Brother?’ asked Lullington, spreading his hands. ‘I am a poor corrodian with very little money. Well, that has changed now my wife is dead—’

‘You could have gone to look for him. Did you?’

Lullington was decidedly furtive. ‘No, I left the search to the
defensores
. It would have been impolite to launch one of my own, and I am not a man to make a nuisance of myself.’

He strode away, leaving the monk staring after him thoughtfully.

Michael spent the rest of the day asking questions about Robert, Pyk, Lady Lullington and Joan, but learned nothing new. He attended vespers as the brash sun of afternoon faded to the softer tones of evening, where the exquisite harmonies of Appletre’s choir went some way to calming his troubled mind – until Yvo joined in and spoiled it with his discordant bray. When the office was over, Henry was waiting to conduct him to the chapter house, where the obedientiaries had assembled to hear a report on his progress.

The chapter house was a large building, designed to hold upwards of eighty monks. Like the church, it combined Norman strength with Gothic elegance, and the stained-glass windows were among the finest Michael had ever seen. A fire had been lit, despite the mild weather, and cushions prevented black-robed posteriors from becoming chilled on the stone seats. Michael sat on the bench that had been placed ready for him, and studied his interrogators.

Prior Yvo had claimed the Abbot’s throne-like chair, but his meagre frame did not fill it, which served to underline the fact that he was a lesser man than his predecessor. Ramseye, inscrutable as always, sat on his right, scribbling on a piece of parchment, while Welbyrn was scowling at the fire as though he might leap up and kick it. Nonton had turned away, pretending to cough while he took a gulp from the flask hidden in his sleeve, and Appletre hummed under his breath, fingers tapping out the rhythm of a new composition.

Somewhat irregularly – seculars were not normally permitted in the chapter house – Lullington was there, preening like a peacock in a handsome tunic bought with his dead wife’s jewels. He wore a sword in his belt, although he should not have been permitted to do so in an abbey, and it occurred to Michael that the obedientiaries aimed to intimidate the Bishop’s Commissioner by inviting an armed knight to the proceedings. Indignation at such tactics turned him testy and confrontational.

‘Why did you not search for Robert when he first failed to return home?’ he demanded.

‘We did,’ objected Yvo, startled by the anger in Michael’s voice. ‘I ordered the
defensores
to look for him, and Henry took a group of monks to speak to Aurifabro. I do not see what else could have been done.’

‘That was the following day. I want to know why you did nothing
that night
. For all you knew, he might have had an accident or been robbed. He might have been lying bleeding, waiting for help.’

‘He knew how to look after himself,’ said Ramseye. ‘Besides, Pyk was with him.’

‘I hardly think a physician counts as a bodyguard. They are trained to heal, not fight.’

‘But Pyk’s presence would have deterred robbers,’ explained Appletre, openly dismayed by Michael’s hostility. ‘He was popular, and soldiers are not always the best form of defence.’

He had a point, although Michael did not acknowledge it. ‘None of you went to inspect the road yourselves, to look for clues regarding his murder. Why not?’

‘Because he is not dead,’ snapped Welbyrn, while his colleagues exchanged weary glances behind his back. ‘Besides, none of us know how to do that sort of thing. We are monastics, not spies.’

‘That is why you are here, is it not?’ asked Ramseye silkily. ‘To poke around in ditches and bushes, and deduce answers from what you discover? Gynewell said you have unique talents. Of course, we have yet to see them.’

‘All you have done so far is ask impertinent questions and allow one of your number to be poisoned,’ said Nonton, taking over the attack. ‘Moreover, Joan was killed the moment after you arrived. It is damned suspicious, if you ask me.’

‘Hear, hear,’ crowed Welbyrn, eyes flashing with spite. ‘Before her, there had not been a suspicious death in Peterborough since Oxforde went on the rampage forty-five years ago.’

‘That is true,’ agreed Yvo. ‘Ours is a safe, law-abiding town.’

‘Really?’ asked Michael acidly. ‘Then what about Reginald the cutler’s wife, who disappeared five years ago?’

‘She ran away from her brutish husband,’ said Yvo. ‘There is no mystery there. Personally, I cannot imagine why our Abbot made friends with Reginald. I find him a most objectionable fellow.’

‘Perhaps Robert was trying to save Reginald’s soul,’ said Ramseye. The expression on his face was bland, although amusement flashed briefly in his eyes at the notion.

Welbyrn turned on Michael again. ‘From your questions, I assume you have discovered nothing since you arrived – not about Robert and Pyk, and not about Joan either. Moreover, I do not believe Clippesby is a saint. He seems more lunatic than holy to me – not that I am qualified to judge insanity, of course. We do not have madmen in Peterborough.’

‘Simon the cowherd is rational, is he?’ asked Michael coolly.

‘Simon is none of your damned business,’ yelled Welbyrn, so loudly and abruptly that everyone jumped. ‘How dare you pass judgement on him!’

‘He was only defending Clippesby,’ objected Appletre, hand to his chest to indicate the fright he had been given. ‘And your response is—’

He got no further, as Welbyrn surged forward and grabbed him by the front of his habit. Appletre’s rosy cheeks blanched in alarm.

‘You are a damned fool!’ raged Welbyrn, shaking the precentor like a dog with a rat. ‘Robert is not dead and Simon will be cured. You wait and see.’

He shoved Appletre away with such force that the smaller man staggered backwards and ended up in Nonton’s lap. Then Welbyrn stormed out, slamming the door behind him so hard that the sound reverberated like a thunderclap.

‘Does he often explode so?’ asked Michael, in the shocked silence that followed.

‘Just over the last few weeks,’ said Yvo, watching Appletre scramble off the cellarer’s knees. ‘It must be the strain of continuing to believe that Robert is alive when it is obvious that he is dead. Appletre can sing to him later – that should soothe his ragged nerves.’

‘I suspect that might be beyond my modest skills, Father Prior,’ said Appletre, his anxious eyes suggesting he was loath to be manhandled again.

‘Well, try,’ snapped Yvo. ‘I do not like it when he is fierce. To be frank, he frightens me.’

‘Very well,’ gulped Appletre. ‘As soon as I have said a prayer for Matthew in the church. Henry is there now, and has been much of the day. He is worried about his old friend.’

Michael narrowed his eyes, pondering the possibility that guilt might have led Henry to spend so many hours on his knees. He bowed a curt farewell to his brethren and returned to the guest house, where he found that Bartholomew was not the only one fast asleep. So was William. The friar stirred when the door opened, and Michael noted with relief that Bartholomew did, too: the effects of whatever he had been fed were wearing off. As he wanted time alone, to think, the monk suggested that William attend compline.

He had not been pondering long when Clippesby arrived. He had a visitor with him, swathed in a cloak with a hood. Uninvited, the person stepped into the room and let the hood fall away, so that her face was visible in the candlelight.

‘Matilde!’ exclaimed Michael.

The love of Bartholomew’s life glided towards the bed, and Michael thought it was a pity the physician was not awake to see her. Then it occurred to him that perhaps it was for the best, given his recent fondness for Julitta Holm.

‘I heard some of the bedeswomen talking,’ whispered Matilde, her lovely face anxious. ‘They said the visiting
medicus
had been poisoned, so I waited outside the abbey, hoping for news. Then I saw Clippesby, who smuggled me inside.’

‘Let us hope he can smuggle you out again,’ said Michael, glaring at the Dominican. ‘Women are not allowed in here, and breaking that particular rule would see us ousted for certain. Then I would never solve the Abbot’s murder.’

Matilde waved an irritable hand to indicate her disregard for what she deemed foolish regulations. ‘What about Matt? How serious is this poison?’

‘It was delivered in Lombard slices,’ explained Michael. ‘An unpardonable sacrilege, which makes me even more determined to catch the culprit. Fortunately, Matt only ate one, and I imagine we could wake him now if we shook him hard enough.’

‘No,’ said Matilde hastily. ‘Let him rest.’

‘When he told me that he had seen you, I assumed he had imagined it.’ Michael’s expression was reproachful. ‘As used to happen several times a week when you first left.’

Matilde winced. ‘I am travelling north. It is bad luck that put us together now.’

‘He will be glad to have you back,’ said Clippesby warmly. ‘He was never the same after you left.’

‘That is not why I am here,’ said Matilde. ‘Michael understands – I explained it to him when we met in Clare last summer.’

Clippesby gaped at the monk. ‘You knew where she was, but did not tell Matt? I hope you had a good reason, because that is not the act of a friend. Indeed, not even a goat would do it, and they are notoriously unromantic.’

‘He did it because I asked him to,’ explained Matilde, when Michael made no attempt to defend himself. ‘If I had married Matt, he would have lost his University post. I have no money of my own – I lost every penny to thieves shortly after leaving Cambridge – so he would have had to give up his poorer patients, too. He would have been unhappy, and would have grown to hate his life. And perhaps hate me, too, for bringing him to it.’

‘You put me in an impossible situation,’ said Michael softly. ‘I have been obliged to pass remarks about you that must have made him think I was losing my wits.’

‘I am sorry,’ said Matilde. ‘But it was for the best.’

‘I beg to differ,’ argued Michael. ‘He does not care about money, and would be happier with you regardless.’ Then a vision of Julitta flashed into his mind. ‘Probably.’

‘On reflection, I am not so sure,’ said Clippesby, making Michael regard him sharply. ‘He
would
hate turning paupers away in favour of calculating horoscopes for the wealthy. He spends all his stipend on them, and I have recently learned how expensive medicines can be. He would certainly baulk at not being able to practise in what he sees as an ethical manner.’

‘You see, Brother?’ murmured Matilde. ‘I always said Clippesby was the wisest of Michaelhouse’s Fellows.’

‘But you must talk to him before you go,’ Clippesby continued. ‘Explain your reasons. You may cajole Michael into lying for you again, but you will not persuade me.’

‘Nor me, not this time,’ asserted Michael. ‘It was one of the most unpleasant things I have ever had to do, and that includes once abstaining from meat for the whole of Lent.’

Matilde shook her head. ‘That would be too painful for both of us. But I will dictate a letter, if you will write it for me.’

‘That depends on what you plan to say,’ replied Michael suspiciously.

‘I shall ask him not to come after me, because I will not be found,’ said Matilde. ‘However, I shall also say that I have decided to do something about my impoverished circumstances, and that if I succeed, I shall return to Cambridge to see whether he might be interested in … in a resumption of our friendship.’

‘How will you succeed?’ asked Michael curiously. ‘By taking up burglary?’

‘That would be one way, I suppose,’ said Matilde with the wry smile he remembered so well. ‘But I am hoping to work through more legitimate channels. An old friend has agreed to help me, and I am astute with finances. I shall do my best to acquire the fortune that will keep Matt’s paupers in salves and potions.’

Michael looked sceptical, but Clippesby grinned.

‘If anyone can do it, you can,’ the Dominican said.

When Bartholomew woke the following day, he found it difficult to rally his thoughts. He was lethargic, and had backache from lying in one position too long. Even so, he did not possess the energy to move, so he stared at the ceiling, watching the first tendrils of light creep across it as dawn broke. Only when he heard his colleagues stir did he sit up.